Sitting with the ironic weight of my cigarette smoke resting on my shoulders.
My body filling with worse things than tar.
Your name crosses my mind like an uncontrollable twitch,
again,
and again,
and again.
Some days it becomes comforting,
like a metronome.
Until I look down and I'm marching to the beat backwards.
Into my Parliament lights I think I've floated away,
only to see my exhales spelling out that name.
I beg to be introduced to a new beginning, as I so gently kiss them.
But they only know of one.
Their ***** souls are but feathers in my lungs.